Synagogues

Posted May 31st, 2017 by lake

And in Siquem, in a small and poor house, a widow displeased between all lived, that an ill son with the fevers had. The miserable ground was not cemented, nor in him was a bed. In the red mud lamp the oil had been dried. The grain lacked in the coffer, the calm noise of the domestic mill had stopped, and this one was in Israel the cruel evidence of infinite misery. The poor mother, sitting in a corner, cried. And, made kneel, surrounded in rags, pale and shaking, boy asked him, with voice weak as a sigh, that went to him to call to that Rabbi of Galilea, of whom it would hear speak, next to the well of Jac, that it loved the children, that otter to the human multitudes and cured all the evils with the caress of Its hands. And the mother said, crying: How you want your, my son, who I leave and is going to look for you the Rabbi of Galilea? Obed is rich and has servants, I I saw happen, and in vain they looked for Jesus by borders and cities, from Corazim to the country of Moab. Septimus is strong, it has soldiers, and also I saw happen, and asked for Jesus they will find without It, from Hebrn to the sea.

How love you who I leave you? Jesus is far, and our pain is with us. And without a doubt the Rabbi, in the new Synagogues does not listen to the complaints of a mother of Samaria, that only knows to go to pray, like once, at the top of the Garizim mount. The boy, with the closed eyes, pale and like dead, murmured the name of Jesus, and the mother, crying, continued: As what he will serve, my son, to start off and to go to look for it? Long they are the highways of Syria, cuts is the mercy of the men.

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